Sara Teasdale: Dust


When I went to look at what had long been hidden,  A jewel laid long ago in a secret place, I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire —  But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.
I almost gave my life long ago for a thing  That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes — It is strange how often a heart must be broken  Before the years can make it wise.